


I like you

by TooRational



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooRational/pseuds/TooRational
Summary: Jesus makes a decision.





	I like you

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure, self-indulgent fluff of the „I want them to kiss so I'll make them kiss, dammit!“ variety. Be the change you want to see in the world and all, right? ;)
> 
> Rating for language.

It’s not exactly a secret that Paul is perceptive and very good at handling people. He kept Gregory from making a mess at and of Hilltop for years, he's the main contact for the Kingdom and king Ezekiel, he managed to bring in the Alexandrians into the Hilltop _still armed_ and then keep everything from going to shit after they (circumstances aside) _killed one of their own_ not two hours later.

Point being, Paul knows people. Paul knows how to read people. Paul knows how to make people do what he wants, if need be, lead them to a specific outcome so subtly they'll think it was their own idea. He knows a vast variety of techniques to deal with a vast variety of personalities and situations, and that's only the theoretical part.

After all, he'd figured out how to read a room and make a snap decision when he was eight, because failing to do so usually lead to some very unpleasant consequences.

He was a very quick study.

None of these skills and techniques do him any good when it comes to Daryl Dixon, though.

It's not that Daryl knows what he’s doing in advance or refuses to engage, so to speak, it’s just that Daryl sees right through all the bullshit. He knows who he can and can't trust in minutes, he knows who is lying or telling the truth, he literally _senses_ if you try to pull shit on him or manipulate him. Daryl is basically a human lie-detector.

It's a quality that should objectively bother the crap out of Paul, but in typical Daryl fashion turns out to be yet another bullet point on a list of reasons Paul likes him so much. And isn’t _that_ a list that grows daily, starting with the childish way Daryl shook that soda before he threw it at Paul’s feet (as if that’s the worst, pettiest thing you can to a 'helpless' man in the apocalypse; _fuck_ , he's so adorable) and currently ends with item fifty-seven: the way Daryl obnoxiously plays up his ‘redneck’ persona when he notices someone judging him. (There was glaring and chest-puffing and finger-licking -- _finger-licking_ for fuck’s sake, Paul _cannot_ handle watching Daryl Dixon _lick his fingers_ right in front of him before breakfast, that’s _insane_.)

Back to the point and issue at hand: trying any sort of handling on Daryl is a really bad idea. He’d notice it sooner or later ( _sooner_ , most probably), feel like he’s been lied to and manipulated and betrayed, and probably cut all and any contact.

Honestly, Paul doesn’t even know how he got to where he is now when it comes to Daryl, but he’s incredibly grateful for it.

In the beginning it was just the easiest way to interact with him. Daryl doesn't need much from the people around him: no bullshit, no small-talk, no pretense, just being there in silence if needed and having his back if that's your job on a run. To be someone he can trust not to fuck him or his family over. That is the literal and complete list of things that endear you to Daryl, full stop.

Then somewhere along the way, something changed. Daryl started adding his own jabs to Paul’s snarky commentary (the first time Daryl barked out an actual laugh, Paul was so startled he nearly jumped). Patting each other on the back or arm in passing after a good run or save became a habit. Overhearing Daryl tell someone to fuck off for trying to wake Paul up when he was resting after a four-day run made his cheeks heat up, a warm glow settle in his chest. Daryl complaining loudly about his book collection and why so many of them have happy-go-lucky bullshit activities like _origami_ (which Daryl then proceeded to learn in record time, the asshole, and started littering every and any remotely flat surface in Paul’s trailer with random paper flowers and animals) was actually the highlight of Paul’s week.

Now, months later, a run with Daryl means silent communication and synchronized movement, putting them as top choice for every dangerous mission there is. Either of them being on watch means the other one stops by, talking quietly for a while or spending hours next to each other in silence. It means Daryl knowing how to slip almost all knots that exist and Paul knowing which tracks are made by an animal and which by a walker. It means bringing each other trinkets when they’re on a run alone or with other people, stuff they remember mentioning in passing or reminders from their pre-apocalyptic lives.

It means Daryl pulling him out of danger like he would any of his family members, something that surprises Paul every time, makes him smile helplessly. (Paul nearly clocked him the first few times, fists moving quicker than the brain could process visual input, but now he can recognize Daryl’s hands blindfolded: the pull at the back of his leather jacket before stepping into a rusty old trap in the woods, the pressure on his shoulder pushing him down to duck a split second before an ambush, the heat of an arm around his stomach pulling him into Daryl’s body and back around the corner before the walkers notice them.)

No one ever does stuff like that for Paul, just like no one ever gives him ‘useless’ things from the outside world. Because Jesus ‘can take care of himself'. Jesus doesn’t ‘need’ any of that.

And it's not that Paul _can't_ deal with threats himself, or that Daryl underestimates him or is pulling some sort of alpha male crap, it's just that Daryl clearly _cares_ , and putting himself in danger rather than the person he cares about is in Daryl's blood. He does it for every member of his family, and the fact that he adds Paul so naturally and matter-of-fact to that group kind of blows Paul's mind.

The problem with all this, the thing that trips Paul up and has led to this internal debate he’s been agonizing over for nearly a month now, is that he knows nothing about Daryl's sexuality.

All Paul knows comes from a snippet of a conversation he accidentally overheard, and it’s that Daryl hasn’t been involved with anyone since the start of the apocalypse, and hasn't mentioned anyone from before, either. That could mean Daryl is asexual or demisexual, okay, but what about relationships? Where is he on the romance spectrum, interested or not? Of course, it’s possible that Daryl just _doesn't talk_ about his sex life, this _is_ Daryl after all. Or maybe he talks about it with a select few people who wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone else?

Or maybe Paul can speculate about all this until brain melts, but it doesn’t change his current situation, which is shit up the creek without a paddle. He simply doesn't have anything to go on.

One thing he’s reasonably sure of: if he doesn't make a move, Daryl most certainly never will. The evidence of that, at least, is pretty fucking conclusive. And since any sort of hinting, sneaking around, or asking other people about it will probably just blow up in his face, Paul decides to go ahead and say it.

Because this feeling inside of Paul, this warmth and pull every time he sees Daryl, this profound _need_ to be close to him, talk to him, make him laugh, hug him, touch him, _be with him_ , is only growing. People are starting to notice (Maggie most notably, because of course, she's his best friend; Carol was definitely shooting him suspicious looks the last time she saw him; fucking _Kal_ started to look at them with a thoughtful tilt of his head), and if any gossip gets to Daryl before he can talk to him, Paul is _screwed_. (And not in the fun way.)

There's nothing Daryl values more than honesty and straightforwardness, so that's what Paul will give him. Hopefully, it won't end too badly. If he’s not interested in a relationship, they could still be friends, Paul can adapt. It’s gonna _suck_ so very badly for a long time, but he’d get over it.

The only thing he couldn’t bear is for Daryl to pull away completely, reverting back to distrustful stares and monosyllabic responses, not talking to Paul or spending time with him. Daryl is probably his best friend aside from Maggie at this point, it feels like he’s inside Paul’s veins, settled underneath his skin.

And losing that, losing Daryl? Might actually break Paul’s heart.

***

„I like you,“ Paul says, pulse hammering away in his throat no matter how much he tries to keep his breathing steady.

Daryl frowns and looks back at him for a moment, slowing down but still tracking the deer they came out to hunt today. „What?“

„I said I like you,“ Paul repeats, and Daryl turns around and throws him a confused look.

“What, like friends and shit? Why d’you think I hang out with you? It sure ain’t ‘cause of your sparkly personality, ‘cause I hate to tell you but you’re kind of a little shit.”

“No, I mean I _like you_ -like you,” and oh god, he’s been reduced to middle school-speak, how did this manage to go so wrong so quickly? Case in point--

„What is this, high school? I thought you’d outgrown stupid pranks,“ Daryl snorts and turns back around, walking deeper into the forest.

„It's- it's not a prank, Daryl,“ Paul stutters, lengthening his stride to catch up to him.

Daryl rolls his eyes, touching a spot where the bark of a tree is damaged. The deer must be close.

“’Cause it’s a pretty shitty one, there’s no way I’m fallin’ for that.”

“Daryl….”

“’S just like Carol, she used to say shit like that all the time. Thought she was funny.”

“Daryl--“

“Funny my ass, why can’t you people just leave it alone.”

„Daryl, will you stop and look at me for a second,“ Paul says forcefully, dampening the hint of panic at this conversation not at all going how he planned.

„ _What_ ,“ Daryl bites out and turns, stopping so abruptly Paul almost runs into him, crossbow dangling from his right hand.

Paul swallows nervously, takes a deep breath and says „I like you,“ looking straight into Daryl's eyes.

Daryl says nothing, eyes narrowed and brow slightly furrowed. He doesn't look mad, at least, only upset and irritated and confused.

„It's not a prank and it's not a joke, this is just me telling you I like you as more than just a friend,“ Paul says as the iron band around his chest tightens.

„I don't expect anything from you, and I don't even know if you like men or me or relationships at all, but I had to tell you.“

Paul steps closer, and Daryl standing his ground and not flinching back gives him the strength to continue, lay the rest of it out in the open.

„ _I like you._ And I want you, Daryl, I want to _be_ with you. I want to talk to you and spend time with you, I want to kiss you and touch you, I want to fall asleep and wake up next to you, day after day. I want to know what you think about, what you dream about, what scares you and what makes you laugh.“

Daryl is looking at him in complete and utter shock, mouth slightly parted, and Paul's chest contracts again in an anxious panic.

This is it, his first and last chance. If he doesn't say everything in his heart and on his mind now, he never will. If he's condemning himself, he can only take doing so having laid out all that he is, all that he feels.

„God, Daryl, I dreamt of kissing you so many times now I can see it even when I'm awake. And it's _so stupid_ , letting yourself fall so completely for someone you don't even know likes you back, but I did. Like a complete dumbass, _I did_ ,“ Paul breathes out the last sentence on a laugh, eyes glistening.

„And as much as I'd like to do the whole romance movie scenario of throwing all caution to the wind and kissing you at random one day, I won't do it because I know you,“ Paul says, and he sees the words do something to Daryl, but he can't figure out what, his brain doesn't compute anything past getting his speech out anymore.

One last, careful step closer brings Paul's booted feet at almost touching distance to Daryl's, their faces inches away.

„ _I know you_ , Daryl Dixon, and you don't like surprises. You like making your decisions based on information. And you don’t like to be pushed, or handled, or told what to do. So this is me, telling you what you need to know to make a decision. And this is me asking.“

Paul swallows and his throat clicks dryly.

_Come on, just one more sentence._

„Can I kiss you?“ Paul whispers.

Dead silence follows.

The wait is _agonizing_. They're so close Daryl can probably hear the roar of Paul's heart in his chest. The heat of Daryl's body is so very distracting, but Paul doesn't dare take his eyes off Daryl's. He takes down all his walls, lets everything he talked about and every single thing he feels show in his eyes and face and body, and he _waits_.

Daryl is frozen, breathing deep and controlled, looking at him intensely enough it's making Paul's hands shake. He has no idea what’s going through Daryl’s head at the moment. He wants to hope for the best, but his brain is coming up with one horrible scenario after another. Is he trying to figure out how to let him down easy? Will he get mad at Paul, yell that he never wants to see him again? Does he even believe a word Paul said?

Every long second that passes adds what feels like not another rock but another _boulder_ to Paul’s stomach, anxiety and dread rising, and he almost misses Daryl giving a slow, tiny nod.

Sure that he’s started hallucinating from sheer stress, Paul chokes out a weak “yeah?” to double-check.

Daryl nods again, that’s a definite nod, and relief rushes through Paul in a half-laugh and half-heavy exhale. He beams at Daryl, smile probably way too wide and toothy but he can't help it.

_He's going to kiss Daryl Dixon._

He ducks his head for a moment to pull himself together and sees Daryl’s left hand clenched in a tight fist. It’s an abrupt reality check, seeing how something that makes Paul happy and that he associates with pleasure and good memories is something that Daryl obviously finds stressful and unsettling. And he doesn’t want that, he can’t stand Daryl thinking this is something to be afraid of. It makes his heart ache with sympathy.

So Paul reaches out and slides his fingertips gently down Daryl’s wrist, the back of his hand. The skin there is tight with scar tissue but he doesn’t linger, knows Daryl doesn’t like attention drawn to any of his scars. It’s so quiet, the only sounds their breathing and a distant bird chirping, while Paul learns how the skin on Daryl’s inner wrist feels, what shapes the lines on Daryl’s palm create. Paul lifts Daryl's hand and presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles, another to his palm, can't help but linger for a moment, then lets their hands drop.

Looking into Daryl’s eyes somehow still has the power of a sledgehammer, for the effect it has on Paul’s heart and lungs. A tiny shuffle forward and they're so close Paul can count his eyelashes. Paul's hand finds its way to the side of Daryl's neck on its own, thumb stroking his beard lightly. It prickles his fingers.

He slowly lifts up on his toes and presses a butterfly-light kiss on Daryl's left cheek. He can feel Daryl trembling, the skin under his lips hot enough to burn. Daryl’s lips are slightly parted and puffing out unsteady breaths, but he's still there. He didn't run, he didn't say no.

Daryl is _still here_.

Paul almost laughs, giddy with happiness and anticipation and _hope_.

He kisses Daryl's other cheek just as gently, then the corner of his eye, then his eyebrow, the edge of his jaw, the corner of his lips. Paul kisses him, slowly, and carefully, and gently, for so long his calves start to cramp up and he has to drop back down on his heels.

And Daryl _follows_ , to Paul's utter shock, shoulders curled and temple leaning against Paul's forehead, face tilting toward his almost helplessly. Daryl's lips are _right there_ and there's no thinking, no hesitation, Paul just lifts his chin and presses his lips lightly against Daryl's.

_Finally._

It's probably the most innocent kiss of Paul's adult life, but its power shakes him like an earthquake. He feels like he’s drowning and learning to breathe in the same moment. The lips under his press back lightly and Paul whines in the back of his throat, pressing closer, sliding his arm around Daryl's neck. The press of their bodies is heaven, the feeling everything and nothing he'd imagined it to be.

Paul wants to speak, to shout his joy to the sky before he bursts from sheer happiness, but he can't seem to make himself unlock his lips from Daryl’s. He kisses him again and again, changing angles and pressure and speed, kissing Daryl's lower and upper lip, trying anything and everything he can think of because every single touch is like a jolt of electricity directly to his brain.

Paul licks Daryl's lower lip and Daryl’s mouth opens on a gasp, and _oh my god_. Thoughts get muddled, time stretches like a gum, and there's an arm around Paul's waist, supporting his weight, lifting and pressing him into Daryl’s body. He hears a distant dull thud but can’t be bothered to figure out what it is, exploring Daryl's mouth an experience that takes absolute priority. It’s obvious a moment later anyway, when Daryl’s right hand comes up to tangle itself into his hair, palm cradling the back of Paul’s skull gently.

They kiss and kiss and _kiss_ until their lips are swollen and hot, until Paul has to take a break and cool down or risk this going way too far, way too fast.

He unlocks his lips from Daryl’s reluctantly and, panting, lays his forehead against Daryl’s cheek. His feet are back on the ground now (and _oh_ , the thought of Daryl’s arms holding him up effortlessly for so long does _not_ help his situation _at all_ ) but they’re still wrapped up in each other.

After several long moments, Paul lifts his head to look at Daryl’s face, the need to know what Daryl is thinking winning over everything else.

“Hey,” he whispers, a smile on what feels like his entire face, “you ok?”

Daryl looks terrified for a moment, like a spell has been lifted and the reality of the situation is sinking in. He looks like he’s on the verge of bolting, body tense again.

But then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath once, twice, and it looks like he's consciously and deliberately choosing… _something_.

When Daryl opens his eyes again, Paul can see determination, and affection, and hope written all over his face.

“Yeah, ’m ok,” he says, and brushes his knuckles gently against Paul’s cheek.

Paul can’t help it, rising to his tip-toes again and pressing another kiss on Daryl’s cheek, then hugging him so hard his arms ache.

Daryl buries his head into Paul’s shoulder and hugs back just as hard.


End file.
